for now the day bleeds into nightfall;

[ cyno has had these dreams his entire life.

sometimes they are innocuous, even warm. he dreams of the stretching sands, the selfsame sands he grew up traversing, but they are.. different, the landscape changed, the people changed, the cities large and bustling. he loves these people, in his dreams. he wields a great staff and works his will across the desert, and he is content.

but other times.. other times there is pain, and grief, and all consuming, utter madness. it eats at him, it drags him down into the tar pits in the back of his mind, and it refuses to let go. these nightmares are difficult to wake from, they urge him to remain, to give in to the deep, endless despair, for there is no light left to reach for. its warmth is gone, faded from the world forever, and he will never know the peace of her touch again - why bother to grab for what is gone forever? her legacy is all that keeps him on his feet, her belief in him, that he could be something more, that he could bring lasting change. even still, he can hardly find the will to stand.

cyno wakes with a shout, his chest heaving with rapid breaths, his bronzed skin dewy with sweat, his scarlet eyes wide and wild, slitted pupils blown large and black, eclipsing the fiery wreaths of his irises. he has been talking in his sleep, writhing and groaning, the sheets damp with sweat and tangled around his legs from his thrashing, not rising even at the sound of her voice, not waking until the dream at last releases him from its dark, frenzied clutches. since meeting her, the nightmares have worsened, growing more common, more insistent, but that won't keep him from her side. nothing will keep him from her side. ]